


Loved

by orphan_account



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale helps Crowley, Ficlet, Fictober, Fluff, Little Family - Freeform, M/M, Nanny Crowley (Good Omens), Touching, crowley is tired, happy fic, putting Warlock to bed, soft, they love Warlock, they love each other a lot, they'll be like that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 08:42:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20963693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account





	Loved

It is Warlock’s sixth birthday. The party ended a few hours ago and now it’s just him and Crowley, sitting side by side in the luxurious living room of the Downling residence, enjoying the last few hours before Warlock has to go to bed.

The boy’s hunched over his drawing of a giant black mamba, furiously colouring the scales on its back with a piece of coal he received earlier as a birthday gift from Crowley - the nanny who’s definitely not overflowing with pride.

A soft knock on the door makes Crowley glance at the grandfather clock on the wall and realise, with surprise, that it’s way passed the boy’s bedtime. 

“Come in,” Crowley says quietly, already knowing he’s about to get scolded by the only other person who cares about Warlock’s bedtime.

“Brother Francis!”

Warlock jumps down from his stool and runs towards him with the drawing in his hand.

“Hello,” Aziraphale greets him, smiling at the joyful boy. He bends down to be on his eye level.

“Look what I made,” Warlock says, holding up the drawing in front of his face. 

Aziraphale’s smile widens so quickly Crowley has to blink to adjust to the sudden brightness in the room.

“It’s very good, excellent, in fact,” he comments, warmth radiating from his melodic voice, ”I’m sure nanny must be very proud.”

Warlock comes over to his side of the table, placing the sketch in front of him.

“Nanny, are you proud?” 

He asks in that innocent voice of his that makes Crowley scrape his teeth.

“Very, my dear boy,” he reassures him.

Satisfied, Warlock sends him a toothy grin and climbs up on the stool again. He grabs a yellow pencil and starts colouring the snake’s eyes for a change.

Crowley turns back to Aziraphale and almost chokes on the fondness with which he’s looking at him. 

“What?” His voice comes out softer and more vulnerable than he intended. 

“Your good side is showing.”

“I don’t have a...,” he starts to protest but he runs out of air. He’s too tired to have this argument again. 

“I suppose you’re right,” he sighs.

Aziraphale pulls out a chair and sits down next to him, his smile warm and teasing.

“What was that?” 

Crowley sighs again, louder this time.

“I said, I suppose you’re right.”

Aziraphale beams at him and just like that, Crowley’s agitation disappears.

“You should put him to bed,” Aziraphale remarks, glancing at Warlock who yawns at the exact same moment as if to prove his point.

“Yeah,” Crowley hums softly, watching Aziraphale’s lips that are so very close that he could kiss them without even straining his neck too much.

“What’s the matter?”

“Sorry?”

Crowley focuses his attention back on Aziraphale’s worried eyes.

“Are you alright?”

“Just tired, angel,” he replies, rubbing his head that’s been unpleasantly buzzing since this morning.

“Do you want me to help?”

He nods hesitantly.

Aziraphale gives him an understanding smile and walks over to Warlock. He talks him into abandoning his drawing for the day and by some miracle, the boy actually listens to him and leaves the room to brush his teeth. 

They share a relieved look.

When Warlock emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later, already dressed in his stripey pyjama and with his mouth minty, they shower him with praises, telling him what a good boy he is that he managed to do all of that on his own.

After all, he’s only six.

“Brother Francis?” Warlock asks in surprise when he finds the gardener sitting in the chair by his bed, usually occupied by the nanny.

“Hello again, dear,” Aziraphale sing-songs, “I can read you a story or two, if you want.”

“What about nanny?” Warlock asks.

They both fall silent and Crowley assumes, they’re looking at his slumped form in the armchair by the window. 

“She needs her rest,” Aziraphale explains after a while and Crowley can’t help but smile.

“Everybody needs their rest,” the boy says.

“Yes, my dear. That’s very true.”

Aziraphale picks up the Little Prince and starts reading where Crowley stopped the night before. His tender voice lulls Crowley to sleep. It’s a warm, safe bubble that he drifts off to.

Much later, when the room is pitch black and he can hear Warlock’s even snoring from the bed, familiar arms wind themselves around his neck and he feels Aziraphale’s lips in his hair.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed as well.” 

Crowley sinks deeper into the warmth of the armchair, refusing to move.

“You can’t sleep here, darling.”

Crowley’s heart flutters in his chest at the soft pet name despite being only half awake.

“Help me up?” He requests groggily and Aziraphale pulls him up to his feet in one swift but gentle motion.

“Thanks.”

Aziraphale’s arms secure themselves around Crowley’s back, supporting him the entire way to his room. Once in Crowley's room, he sits him down on the bed and helps him out of his clothes until he’s left in only his undershirt and boxers. 

Even after he's comfortably sprawled on the bed, Aziraphale doesn't leave. He runs his hands through his hair and pulls out the sharp pins until his curls cascade down to his shoulders, loose and messy.

Crowley leans into the touch of his hand, sighing contently.

He feels loved and the rest doesn't matter.


End file.
